


Sun in an Empty Room

by t_3po



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Family Drama, M/M, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23650315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_3po/pseuds/t_3po
Summary: "Don't fall in love with me," Jim said with a laugh."I assure you, I won't," Spock lied.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 36
Kudos: 140





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while listening to Track 10 for three hours on loop, let's go songs about endless yearning. Strap in for the 'every trope I can think of' ride and forget everything you know about canon Star Trek universe because I rewrote so many details and also let's hope I'll actually finish a fic again.

A week after Spock suddenly disappeared, Pike called Jim into his office. "I'm worried about him," he explained after Jim had hesitantly taken a seat in front of his desk.

"Why'd you call me in? Of all people?" Jim asked.

"Well," Pike answered awkwardly. "You're the closest thing he has to a friend."

In his entire time in the Academy, it seemed to everyone that Spock had no friends. There was Gaila who liked to coo over Spock, and there was Uhura who always went out of her way to make Spock feel included, and of course there was the chess club where Spock sat in the back every Wednesday night, quietly rearranging the pieces on his board. But the instructors had seen Jim hanging around Spock in the hallways, and their names were always signed up next to each other in every academic tournament the Academy held. “We’re not exactly friends, sir,” Jim said, and Pike flushed and quickly apologized for his assumption.

"Oh and Jim," he added before Jim could leave. "Congratulations."

He wasn't the only one who approached Jim. Their professors, even instructors exclusive to the science track, all came by and asked what had happened to Spock, and Jim had lied again and again until they all gave up on him. Later when Spock's father sent a message to Starfleet Academy informing them that Spock was in good health but that he wished to continue his studies in Vulcan, it was only later that the rumors and conspiracy theories died down. Spock, a majority of the students assumed, had had enough of humans.

With Spock gone, the internship on the Enterprise automatically went to Jim. Pike had not made it official yet but as Jim and Spock had been the ones competing against each other since day one, Spock disappearing meant Jim no longer had any competition. Students congratulated him and Jim nodded and smiled even though it hurt.

"You must be happy," Una said when she passed by him.

"Truly."

Bones, of course, knew better. He left Jim alone for a bit out of respect, but when it was clear that Spock's absence was turning Jim into a mess, he intervened, stepping into Jim's private life the way he always did when Jim didn't want him to.

"I don't want to talk about it," Jim insisted but Bones was standing in front of his door, his arms crossed over his chest and a determined expression on his face.

Jim sighed. He sat down on his bed. He hadn't slept in it in a week, believing that if he stayed away from it long enough, he would forget. But he remembered. Not the last time, but the one where Spock had looked at him in a way that told Jim that bringing Spock to his bed had been a mistake from the very beginning.

He still kept expecting to see Spock in his room. Spock perched on his desk with one of Jim’s books on his lap, Spock standing over his mechanical experiments, mumbling to himself as he studied Jim’s handwork, Spock in his bed, his uniform neatly folded on the floor, waiting for Jim with that challenging expression on his face. But there was no trace of Spock anywhere. He had taken all of the things he’d left at Jim’s as if removing any trace of him would make it easier for Jim to forget. But somehow, the lack of evidence that he’d been here at all only made things worse.

"I never meant to hurt him," Jim said. He didn't know if he was telling it to Bones or to himself. 

Bones's expression softened. "So what happened?"

Jim shrugged. "Lots of things. Stuff to do with his family but…also. Me.

"He told me he loved me," Jim said. "And I told him I can't. I just can't."

* * *

Exam weeks were always marked by a party at The Rift, the decrepit little dive-bar that was conveniently located just a few blocks away from Starfleet Academy. It was tradition at Starfleet. It would have been more convenient to throw a party once exams were over, but the younger Starfleet students liked to boast their ability to multitask—study hard in the morning, party even harder by night—and the older instructors decided to just go along with it. After all, being young, brash, and just a little arrogant were qualities that Starfleet looked for in their cadets and it was easier to get that wildness out now than when they were in space and had to be more controlled. By the time Jim arrived the party was already in full swing. A live band, composed of two Orions and one Tellarite, was performing on stage. Jim winced as the singer screamed into the microphone and the audience drunkenly yelled the lyrics back to him.

He couldn't judge. He had been like that in his first month of school, when everything was new and he still believed that he could get by with little effort. But now Jim longed to be in his own bed studying or playing cards with Bones and Scotty at their shared apartment or even feigning interest on whatever hobby Sulu was currently experimenting on. But this was Gary's idea of a relaxing time, and Jim had never been able to say no to Gary.

That's because you're too dependent, Bones had said before Jim left for the party.

You just don't get it, Jim had replied a little testily.

Bones who was on the science track and specialized in medicine, Bones who was a decade older than Jim and had already made a life for himself before he decided to start anew, Bones just didn’t understand the unspoken demands in the command and communications track. Anyone aiming for a captaincy after graduation was obligated to socialize as much as possible and the ones who always wanted a ship of their own came from command and communications. Only eight percent actually got to be captains in the end. Connections were everything in Starfleet, something Jim knew well. Pike, after all, had found him in Riverside and encouraged him to enlist solely because he was George Kirk’s son.

Gary was Jim’s upper classman. He was on the command track, like Jim, but was already in his last year and aiming for a spot at USS Farragut which everyone knew he would surely get. The Mitchells had always been tied to Starfleet and in nearly every catalog Starfleet had, there was always one of them, smiling at the camera and encouraging people to join. Gary had taken an interest in Jim upon seeing the similarities between him and his late father, and Jim, hungry with ambition, had decided to follow him around, even if it meant pushing aside his own comfort for Gary’s sake.

When Jim found him, Gary was already drunk, surrounded by empty beer bottles and similarly buzzed students and instructors still too young to know better. "Jim, babe! Having a great time?" he yelled. He detached himself from the woman he was with then put one arm around Jim's shoulders so he could greet Jim with a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

"Ugh, you stink. And I just got here," Jim replied, pushing him away. "Stopped by Bones's first."

“He a freshman?” a burly man in a disheveled instructor’s uniform asked.

“The best!” Gary slurred, patting Jim heavily on the arm. “Smartest kid in his class. George Kirk’s son by the way.”

The people at the table murmured in admiration and Jim beamed. It was dark enough that no one noticed that his smile was strained. His father’s name had gotten him into Starfleet and into Gary’s good books, but it had already been months since he’d first gotten here and Jim wanted to be more than a famous dead man’s son.

He made his excuses and went around, searching for other students. Uhura, as expected was there, along with her roommate Gaila. Uhura had been Jim’s main competition in their year until Uhura pointed out that she didn’t want a captaincy so soon after graduation. “I want to focus on languages and sociology first,” she’d told Jim. “But,” she’d added, poking her finger on Jim’s chest, her fingernail sharp against his skin, “that doesn’t mean I might not suddenly change my mind.”

“Jim,” Gaila yelled, waving him over. She pouted. “Hmmm you didn’t bring that cute friend of yours.”

“Scotty or Bones? You know they’re too old for this kind of shit.” Jim said. “And Sulu’s out of your league,” he added before Gaila could even think of it. “He has a boyfriend.”

“Damn,” she said. She pinched his cheek then sighed. “Might have to settle for you.”

Uhura rolled her eyes. “You can do better, Gaila,” she teased. Gaila laughed at that. She bade Jim goodbye then went back to the dance floor. Jim settled in the space she’d vacated. Uhura, he noticed, had her PADD with her.

“We’re at a party,” he pointed out.

“And I’d rather be reading about ancient Klingon languages for my xenolinguistics exam than be here but you know Gaila.” She smirked at Jim. “Neither of us want to be here, but at least I actually like the company I keep.” Her eyes flicked to where Gary sat. “I like your other friends better.”

“Gary’s fine,” Jim argued. Uhura merely shrugged at that. But she quietly pulled up her extra PADD from her bag and slid it across the table to Jim.

* * *

When his mother talked of her youth, during the rare times she spoke of the life she'd had before Spock ever came into the picture, she had mentioned Human festivities. "I was a wild one," she’d said with a laugh but she hadn't elaborated on what she'd meant by that. She had let him listen to the music she'd grown up with, and the loud bass-heavy noise humans liked to dance to had both fascinated and repelled Spock.

He was curious to hear it live. It was the only reason he had agreed to the invitation. His classmate in his Advanced Navigation class had invited him and Spock was certain that the invitation had only been to satisfy the humans' curiosity on how he'd act in a party. They did not like him, after all. Spock had only been in Starfleet for three weeks, the latest transfer Starfleet had ever allowed, but he was already top of their class. He did not even have to take a majority of the exams cadets were taking as the science classes he was supposed to take had already been accredited. Though he was unused to Humans and their ways, he sensed their resentment, all too similar to the jealous anger of his peers on Vulcan.

The music was just as wild and primal as the version Spock had heard on his speakers at home, but what he had not anticipated was the press of bodies all fighting to get closer to the stage. He had never dealt with anything like this on Vulcan where everyone kept a respectful one meter distance from each other. His shields were being battered by so many Human minds, and ten minutes later he found himself pushing through the crowd so he could seek refuge in the bar's tiny bathroom. The noise was filtered here, enough so that Spock could hear his own ragged breathing. The bathroom light cast a dull blue glow on his face which stared back at him through the cracked mirror, wide-eyed and panicked and painfully young.

He wondered vaguely what his mother would say once he told her he had gone to a party like she had when he was her age. He wondered if she would laugh, amused by his endless curiosity, if she would be proud or aggravated by him wanting to explore the past she did not talk about. He wondered if she would click her tongue and tell him to be careful. He wondered if he would even get to talk to her at all.

He had had no visual contact with any of his family since his father had sent him to Earth. It was better that he remain undistracted, Sarek had insisted, and before Spock could even argue that he had the right to know about his mother's wellbeing, he had ended the call.

Sarek believed he would be alright even though Spock had never been to Earth. He had rented an apartment for Spock, close enough to the Academy, and provided him with an allowance every week so that he wanted for nothing. He could even contact T'Keena, his father's assistant in the Vulcan-Earth Embassy, if ever he needed help. Spock was not allowed back on Vulcan, not until they found a cure for the virus that had infected his mother and almost every Human expat on the planet. The healers were positive Spock was also at risk so Sarek had sent his only child away and kept him in the dark so that he could focus on life on Earth.

Sarek, as usual for Vulcans, had not taken Spock's emotional wellbeing into consideration.

In the dirty bathroom of The Rift, lightyears away from his family and the only life Spock had ever known until now, Spock stared at his reflection and slowly calmed his breathing. He had not had a panic attack in years. Earth, it seemed, brought out his worst traits. He had frozen the week before when a Human man had yelled at him at the grocery store. "Fucking Romulan," he'd spat and Spock hadn't even been able to correct him. He'd rushed to buy what he needed, his heart hammering at his side all the way back to his apartment.

He had been ashamed by his reaction later that day. As a half-Vulcan he was not unfamiliar to discrimination, but he had never experienced it so blatantly, so aggressively. In the eyes of Humans, he was fully Vulcan (or Romulan) and it was strange that on Earth he had achieved what he had secretly, illogically wished for on his home planet. But instead of blending in, he now stood out, with his pointed ears and his too-flat hair and his accented Standard.

Always so different, he thought.

The door swung open, and the noise from the party filled the room for a brief moment. The Orion who'd stepped inside startled upon seeing him standing there. "Oh," she said. "Didn't know it was occupied."

"It is a public space. You are free to enter even if I am here," Spock pointed out and the girl smirked.

"Touché."

Her name was Gaila. She was older than Spock, in her third year in the Academy. Spock did not know why but he had become fascinated with the non-Human students, had wondered why they did not seem to struggle fitting in as he did. They met up regularly, the non-Humans, and had formed a club of sorts that Spock had heard was just all of them making fun of the Humans and their xenophobia. Gaila herself had been the one to extend the invitation to Spock, two days after he’d arrived in the school’s halls, but he'd rejected it.

There were no half-Humans in their club.

"I remember you," Gaila cooed. "The baby Vulcan. Freshman, right?"

She carried a bottle of alcohol with her. "Ligonian wine," she said with a grin, when she noticed him staring. "Vulcans like it. You want a taste?"

Spock stared at the bottle. "Alcohol produced by humanoids rarely has an effect on Vulcans," he said. "And Ligonian wine is banned by the Federation."

"That's why it tastes _so_ good." She held out the bottle. "Come on. A toast between one non-Human alien and another."

* * *

When the party neared its end it was already nearing three in the morning. The band had long gone by then and the music playing now was a slow ballad designed to drive away or soothe the more aggressive patrons into slumber.

Jim had dozed for a bit shortly after Uhura had left with her PADD and a cheeky promise to outdo Jim in their shared Quantum Chemistry class. He had intended to just rest his eyes for a few minutes but he was exhausted. Before Gary had texted, Jim had been working at one of his part-time jobs, and with work and the demands of his exams piling on him, he had not properly rested in a week, hence why Bones had been so against him going to The Rift.

When he woke it was to Gaila frantically shaking him awake. The bar was about to close and Gary, it seemed, had left again without a goodbye. Jim blearily looked up into Gaila's face. She was crying, and the sight of it had Jim sitting up, alarmed.

"What happened?"

"I don't know," she sobbed. "He just collapsed! I can't call emergency and I don't know what else to do."

Jim followed her to the bathroom. On the floor, body twitching feebly, lay a Vulcan still dressed in his red cadet uniform. Jim spotted the broken bottle of Ligonian wine beside him, the dark red liquid spreading on the floor like blood.

"Try to get a sample of that," Jim ordered, his instincts kicking in. He knelt beside the Vulcan. He was cold and when Jim pressed his hand to the thin skin of his wrist, his pulse fluttered erratically. He didn't know if it was a good sign or not. Jim had never touched a Vulcan before, did not know much about them.

He looked back to where Gaila was shakily sweeping the shards of glass into a handkerchief. Jim didn't have to ask where she'd gotten it. Gary had always been good at smuggling illegal substances into Earth.

Calling emergency wasn't an option. They would be suspended, all of them, and The Rift would close down. It didn’t matter that illegal substances always went in and out of the Academy anyway and that even instructors turned a blind eye to it. The media would have a field day if they found out and Starfleet was adamant about keeping a good image.

Jim couldn't help it; he felt a flash of irritation at the Vulcan. He would feel bad about it later but right now, as he struggled to carry the Vulcan in his arms, he felt annoyed that he had to clean up someone else's mess again.

"I'll take him to Bones," he assured her.

He didn't know how he managed to get them both safely to Bones and Scotty's shared apartment, but he succeeded. He'd driven over the speed limit, his hover bike threatening to tip both of them over. Bones was still wide awake as Jim had assumed. "What the hell," he yelled, waking up Scotty.

"Long story," Jim explained as he laid down the Vulcan on Bones's bed. In the ten minute drive he had gone from slightly responsive to completely unresponsive. Bones took one look at him, before ordering both Jim and Scotty out of his room.

Scotty frowned when he told him about the Ligonian wine. "Vulcans drink that," he said. Scotty had worked in engineering for Vulcans before he decided to pursue a more formal education and joined Starfleet where he found Bones and the two of them had bonded over alcoholic beverages and being older than a majority of the cadets. "It's only illegal on Federation planets because it can be too potent for humans. But that stuff's just water for Vulcans."

"Poisoned?" Jim asked but Gaila had been drinking it as well, and when Scotty scanned the shards with his tricorder, there was no trace of tampering.

Bones stepped out of his room forty minutes later. "He'll be fine," he assured them. "Gonna have a nasty bruise on his face but all he did was enter that Vulcan voodoo thing they do when they're hurt. I still don’t know what drove him into the healing trance but he'll wake up in a few hours."

As expected he rounded on Jim. "Now you see why those parties you go to are dangerous!" he barked. Scotty was already inching back into his own room.

"God, Bones, who the fuck do you think I am? Joanna? I'm nineteen," Jim argued. "And I wasn't the one stupid enough to drink something I was unfamiliar with."

Bones glared at him. They had this argument all the time. Bones had been a country doctor, had taken child psychology and had a young daughter of his own. He sensed the broken, ugly thing inside Jim that Jim tried to run away from, had witnessed it countless of times when Jim had broken down, crying, because of the pressure, because of another nightmare, another reminder of the life he’d lived before Starfleet ever became an option. At times, Jim appreciated it, but it was irritating to be watched over all the time, like he was a bomb waiting to explode.

"It's almost four am," Bones finally said in the calmest voice he could muster. "I'm not going to argue with you about this anymore because you're too thick-headed to listen to seasoned adults." Jim snorted at that. "You can sleep on the couch again if you want. You and your friend can talk once you've properly rested."

Jim made a face. "He's not my friend," he said but he accepted the offer and slept for two hours. When he woke it was still dark and no one was awake. Jim tiptoed to Bones’s room, thinking of an apology and a promise he would not keep, but when he opened the door he found that Bones was still asleep, stretched out on the cot he slept in whenever he had to discreetly treat a patient. The Vulcan was asleep as well, turned on his side and curled up like a small child.

The irritation towards the Vulcan returned. He had an exam today, and he had barely studied for it. And after, he had to cover Matty’s shift. His head was pounding from lack of sleep, and he blamed it on the stupid young Vulcan who, for someone from such an intelligent race, had stupidly taken a drink of something he was unfamiliar with.

Later, once he was properly rested, he realized that he had never seen the Vulcan before. As far as he knew, Starfleet did not have Vulcan officers or cadets. Bones had pointed out that he was in Jim’s year—the pin on his bright red cadet uniform gave it away. After classes, when Jim called to check whether or not Bones was still treating his unexpected guest, Bones replied that the Vulcan had already gone when he woke up, and that he’d even made the bed, had put Bones’s medical supplies back in their drawers, so it looked like he had not been there at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chap 2 yeehaw! thanks for reading!!!!

In the end, Spock decided not to leave a note.

It was rude, but if he was to avoid any questions it was better to leave as soon as possible. He knew what had gone wrong. Ligonian wine was safe for Vulcans and Humans but Spock, in his distraction, hadn't considered the effects on the complicated combination of his two halves. The geneticist who'd studied Spock's development had warned his parents of severe allergies that could shock his system. That diagnosis had led to a lifetime of carefully planned meals under his mother's watchful eye, and one more reason for Sarek's strictness. He had always been careful in consuming anything non-replicated. At least, until he'd arrived on Earth and his once rigorously scheduled life had changed.

He did not know how he'd gotten there. The shock to his system had been so great that even his auditory senses had failed to pick up anything useful in his trance. But when he woke up in an unfamiliar bed and spotted the medical kit sitting on the bedside table, Spock knew he had to leave. The man sleeping in the room with him would wake and ask questions and Spock simply didn't have the energy to explain his dual heritage.

It was bad enough that even at nineteen, an adult in both his cultures, he still had to submit reports on his physical status to the Vulcan healers Sarek had hired. It was logical to always check in on his health and it put his mother at ease, Sarek liked to say during the rare times Spock demanded independence. Spock, after all, was a miracle in the medical community and keeping him alive had been a struggle for everyone.

He hired a hover cab back to his apartment. Fortunately, he did not have to attend class until later that afternoon. It was late enough that T'Keena would have sent him a message inquiring him on his whereabouts. Even away from his family, Sarek still kept a close watch on him.

"Mr Spock," the droid doorman greeted when he exited the cab. The droid, made up to look humanoid, was able to replicate nearly every facial expression a Human was capable of. It shot a concerned glance at Spock as it assessed him from head to toe. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," he said. He had not had time to look at himself in the mirror but he stank of smoke and sweat and there was a dull ache on his cheekbone where he'd hit the floor. He did not feel quite alright but discussing his disoriented state with a droid programmed to be the perfect doorman was pointless. Already the droid had forgotten Spock and was now greeting a couple who entered the building.

His apartment's automated system gleefully pointed out that he had several messages in his computer. One of them was from T'Keena asking why he had not been at home to check in. To his surprise he had a message from his own father asking to call. Spock checked the time it had been sent. Only thirty minutes ago.

Quickly, he changed into one of his robes then fixed the bruise on his face with a dermal regenerator (he didn't want Sarek to lecture him about that). He sent a reply to Sarek and two minutes later, his father's stern face filled the screen.

"How are the Humans?" Spock asked, forgetting that he was supposed to do the ta'al first, as the Elders in his House had taught him. Sarek's brow rose.

"You forget your manners," he scolded. Spock frowned which of course only drew Sarek's attention. "And you have not been meditating."

"I admit to finding it difficult to meditate," he said.

"The apartment I rented for you is soundproof. You should not have difficulty," Sarek said, sounding genuinely puzzled. It's not that, Spock thought. The apartment indeed was quiet. It was a wide minimalist studio apartment that had even been adorned with Vulcan artifacts and items exclusive to the House of Solkar. But it was not Spock's room, and whenever he tried to meditate, his body kept searching for the warmth of Vulcan's sun as light slid in through the windows of his room.

Sarek was a diplomat. He had been traveling to different worlds since he was Spock's age and had no difficulty meditating elsewhere. He would not understand that Spock was not yet accustomed to adjusting.

"Your mother is stable," Sarek said which could mean anything. Sarek did not go into details. Spock knew only that his mother was unconscious, that all the Humans who'd been infected by the virus that had come from an expedition to Dakala were now in a medically induced coma. The Vulcan High Council was harried by the spread of the virus. Vulcan did not experience disasters like that, and in the rare instances that they were unprepared, they fixed it in quick efficient ways so that the citizens barely even noticed that something had gone wrong. But now even the Vulcan Science Academy was occupied in searching for a cure. Dakala was not an easy planet to explore and finding a cure would take months, hence why Sarek had decided to transfer him to Starfleet for the time being.

Spock had asked to stay, to help out like his peers, but Sarek had put his foot down. "You are the only heir to the House of Solkar," he'd said. "Your safety is my priority."

"I ought to be helping my own mother." 

"Your mother was specific in her request that I send you to Earth," Sarek had said. "As of now, it is the planet closest to ours that has the lowest risk of contamination. You are going. And you will continue your studies in Starfleet."

Spock had not protested when Sarek proposed Starfleet. It would give him something to do while he waited. He was already ashamed that he was not allowed to assist while Stonn and the others were working in the labs, cooperating with the scientists. Starfleet would at least distract him. In truth, Spock had not considered Starfleet as a career. All Vulcans attended the Vulcan Science Academy, and Spock's future had been planned for him since the day he was born. He would be a scientist and a professor at the VSA. He would be married to T'Pring, the girl who had been chosen for him when he was seven, and in his later years when Sarek was gone, he would be the Vulcan Ambassador to Earth. Vulcans, for all their preaching about the IDIC, preferred to be surrounded by other Vulcans. There were very few races friendly to the Federation that could assimilate into Vulcan culture after all.

But he was enjoying some of his classes, despite the circumstances that had put him in Starfleet in the first place. There were similarities to the VSA but Starfleet had a different, more multicultural approach. And he was curious about Human culture. As a half-Human he wasn't required to take the units on Earth History, and as the son of ambassador, he did not have to take Diplomacy, but Spock signed up for them anyway, ignoring his counselor's warnings that his schedule might be too much for a freshman. Amanda had not talked much about life on Earth, pursing her lips whenever Spock asked. Spock did not know anything about his Human family or if he even had Human relatives who were still living. He'd gathered bits and pieces of his mother's life when he caught her off guard but most of the time she became reserved and Sarek would scold him for prying too much. He did not know what had caused her to turn away from her former life, but he thought that if he read enough about Humans, he would find the answers she refused to give him.

He and Sarek discussed his life on Earth and Spock dutifully reported how his classes were going. He was on top of his classes as was expected of him. No, he did not need anything that he could not get himself. The call lasted only twenty minutes. "I am needed by the Council," Sarek told him and Spock was startled by how much he wanted his father to stay. But Sarek was growing impatient so Spock merely nodded and bade him goodbye. It had been good to talk in Vulcan again, even if it had only been for a few minutes.

He was about to rise to get some breakfast when his computer pinged with another message. It was from Hiastre, a Betazoid in his Astrophysics class, gleefully inviting everyone interested to form a chess club. She must have gotten his email from the class roster. Spock had never talked to her. He did not talk to anyone as he did not understand the point of forming a deeper relationship with anyone in the Academy. He was only there temporarily, after all.

Still, he found himself intrigued. Clubs were a huge part of Starfleet Academy which had puzzled Spock. The VSA had no such thing as student clubs. But in Starfleet Academy there were all sorts of clubs from Interspecies Cuisine, to the music club Spock had admittedly been interested in, and even unofficial clubs. The most notable unofficial club was Mitchell's gang of elite students who called themselves the Red Squad where it was rumored the admiralty got their pick of captains.

Chess, he read, was an Earth game of intense intellect and strategy. It reminded him vaguely of kal-toh and as he scrolled down the images attached to the email, he realized he had seen this game before. In his parents' quarters his mother had a set placed in the shelf where she kept her most treasured possessions.

Spock considered it. Then he typed a quick reply that he would be interested in joining the first meeting.

* * *

Jim worked part time at Hrosin's, an antique bookshop and cafe just a few blocks away from the Academy. The Caitian who owned it had a soft spot for old Earth literature and paperback books. Book selling wasn't a bad job. It definitely beat all of Jim's former jobs, some of which had included bartending and being a mechanic for dodgy freighters, and as Jim was genuinely interested in old literature, he even enjoyed it. Still, he would have preferred to not have to work part time at all. He kept his school PADD hidden under the counter where he now tried to keep up with the latest lessons during his shift.

Starfleet was of course free to enroll in and on Earth no one was deprived of basic necessities. Credits were handed to Federation citizens on a monthly basis, enough to purchase basic needs like non-replicated food or clothing and there were replicators stationed everywhere where people could simply type in what they needed and it would appear. But even Starfleet had miscellaneous fees that students would have to cover on their own. Tickets to different planets, imported seeds for Botany class, precious chemicals for their Chemistry classes, hardware and supplies for anyone taking Beam Technology and Robotics. Not every planet accepted Federation credits meaning money was still a necessity outside the Earth colonies and Federation controlled systems. And then there were the unofficial miscellaneous fees. Mitchell liked to hang out in expensive places and Jim, as his current favorite, was expected to follow him wherever he went.

"You don't have to hurry with your courses. Pace yourself and just enroll again when you have enough credits," Pike had chided. Cadets usually had official mentors in their fourth year but Pike had already taken Jim under his wing. He had been George’s best friend and was supposed to be Jim’s godfather, and though Jim felt a little awkward about it, he let Pike watch out for him. "Most people don't even finish the standard four years, you know. I took gap years when I was studying."

"Yeah, well I want to finish in three," Jim had said stubbornly.

“Cadets don’t finish in three.”

“It’s possible! I already studied how. I just need to overload my units in my freshman and second year. I want to finish in three.”

"It's possible but it's expensive, Jim." He'd sighed as he scanned Jim's schedule. "You don't even have to take all of these classes. You're in the command track, not engineering."

"I'll find a way. And I want to know everything."

"Well if you're certain," Pike had said quietly, "you can always apply for the Special Circumstances scholarship if you’re troubled by money."

Jim had flinched at that. Starfleet offered financial aid to students from war-torn colonies, or students who had undergone severe trauma due to a mishap caused by the Federation. Jim fitted in the latter category. When he'd enrolled, the psychiatrist who'd assessed his mental health had tried to subtly suggest that Jim take the scholarship. Jim had curtly cut him off and left the room, his printed class schedule clenched tightly in his fist.

“No,” Jim had hissed at Pike. “I’m not—I don’t need that. I don’t need anyone’s pity.”

Pike had looked away. “No one is pitying you, Jim.”

“Then why are you always talking to me?”

Despite his outburst that day, he had not blamed Starfleet in years, unlike Winona who was still furious with all of her late husband's colleagues. "I don't understand why you're with them," she'd said when Jim had dropped by to inform her that he wanted to enroll. "I lost you and your father because of those people."

"I want to help people like me," Jim had answered and he found that it was the truth. Winona had glared at him, her eyes shining brightly, but in the end she'd just sighed then pressed a hard kiss on the top of his head.

"You're just like—" But she'd stopped herself before she could finish her sentence. She had not compared Jim to George in years. In fact, she had not talked about George in years and Jim wondered whether that had to do with his mother finally having fallen out of her mad love for him, or if she just wanted to forget. She did not keep pictures of her late husband in her new house, but she kept a picture of Jim on the mantelpiece—the last one they’d taken together before she lost him. In it, he was seven and smiling happily, his mouth stretched wide to reveal the gap in his front teeth. Jim avoided looking at the picture whenever he stopped by, turning his back to it as if he could forget its existence.

Due to her disapproval of his chosen career path, Winona did not send Jim any money which was fine. He didn’t ask for it. He hadn’t asked help from anyone in years. He had survived that way. And his life now wasn't bad. Yes, he was tired a lot but he wanted to be captain, didn't he? And being captain of his own ship meant handling pressure. He had his dorm and Bones had already offered to host him in his apartment when the summer months came and school closed, seeing as Jim did not actually have a permanent residence on Earth (technically, he could stay at his mother's but he always felt like he was intruding in his mother’s life whenever he was there). His instructors appreciated his work and the Red Squad had even taken an interest in him. He could see himself graduating with at least three degrees and graduating with honors.

Every day in the Academy felt like a miracle. No more running, no more pirates, no more wondering where he'd get his next meal. Yes, he was stressed from balancing school and work—there was no hiding from Bones and his tricorder—but he felt safe here.

The bell over the front door chimed, announcing the entrance of a potential customer. Jim shoved the PADD back in his bag and readied his best customer service smile. "Oh," he said with a laugh when he recognized who it was. "Hey, Hiastre."

"Hey, Jim. Do you guys have any Molière?" She rolled her eyes. "I can't believe the amount of Earth literature I have to read. Why do we even have to take Creative Writing classes? I'm aiming for tactical operations, not literature."

"It's for the sake of the archivists who have to listen to the officers' logs," Jim said as he checked the computer for the books she needed. "They want dramatic retellings of events in space."

"I'd rather do the space walks the third years are doing," she grumbled, referring to the odd sight of third year students floating in zero gravity in one of the simulation rooms. Some students had thrown up and the instructor, a stout Ardanan, had shaken his head at the sight of his students' lunches floating in mid-air.

He would have no problem with that, Jim thought, recalling the brief time he'd been in Ardana. He did not recall the name of his foster family at the time but he remembered leaping from over the city walls, his fall suddenly suspended by Stratos's gravitational borders. The police had picked him up on their hover bikes, yelling at him as they escorted him back to his foster parents. “Are you trying to kill yourself, son?” they’d asked and Jim had truthfully answered that he did not know.

"Oh by the way," Hiastre added, interrupting Jim’s thoughts. "I'm forming a chess club."

" _ Chess _ ?"

"Yeah, I started playing it when I got here and it's  _ fun _ ," she grinned. "I know you play. I've seen you in the library at the 3D sets. You should join."

Jim thought about it. He was already in the Xenologuistics club where he happily debated with Uhura on what 21st century Burmese actually sounded like, and Sulu had successfully dragged him to join the Velocity team. It would be too much, he thought, but chess had always been the game that calmed him down when nothing else worked.

"Sure," he said. "Why not?"

"First meeting's on Wednesday night. Don't be late!"

“No promises!”

When Wednesday night arrived, Jim was running ten minutes late. He hadn’t meant to be late, but Scotty had stopped by to ask if he had any leftover duranium. The meeting was held in one of the classrooms in the west wing and to Jim’s surprise it was full of students. Mostly male-aligned students, Jim realized. He turned a questioning expression to Hiastre and she replied with a coy smile. Damn Betazoids, Jim thought.

“You can sit in the back because you’re late,” she said. “Everyone already has a partner and since you already know how to play, I’m pairing you with someone who doesn’t know how to yet.” She jerked her chin to where a lone figure sat in the back row. “Spock.”

It was the Vulcan. The party had been last week but he had not seen the Vulcan again until now. At the sound of his name, he looked up from the board, eyes landing on Jim curiously. There was no recognition on his face. But then why would he? He was passed out when Jim had picked him up and left him at Bones’s.

Bones had complained about the Vulcan when Jim met up with him. “The least he could have done was leave a damn thank you note,” he’d said and Jim had silently agreed. He was frowning as he made his way to Spock who was still staring at his face intensely.

“You are George Kirk’s son,” Spock said.

He should have expected it but somehow it sounded strange coming from a Vulcan. Non-Humans did not particularly care about that bit of history. "Yeah," he grunted. "I'm Jim Kirk."

"Jim Kirk," Spock repeated. "I am Spock." His Standard, Jim noted, was accented, the consonants harder and the syllables cut differently.

He frowned at the way Spock had set the chessboard. "That's not how you do it," Jim said. He rearranged the pieces, aware of Spock's still watchful stare. "There. You've never played before?"

"It is not common to my people," Spock replied. "But I find myself fascinated by it. I did not know Humans had games reliant on one's logic."

Jim frowned but made no comment. Despite not having ever played before, Spock was a difficult opponent. But his style was careful, calculated, and Jim who was already well-versed in different playing styles was able to beat him in fifteen minutes. Spock, head cocked to the side, stared at the board then to Jim. "Fascinating," he repeated.

Jim snorted. "What's so 'fascinating' about me beating you?"

Spock blinked. "Vulcans are of superior intellect to Humans," he pointed out and Jim bristled. He couldn't help it and even though a part of him pointed out that Spock seemed more naive than deliberately mean, Jim's temper rose.

"Superior intellect, huh? You're the one who went catatonic after drinking something you shouldn't have."

Spock froze. "I was the one who brought you to Bones," Jim said. "Nice way of repaying him for letting you rest there by the way. You couldn't even have left a note?"

To his surprise, the blank mask Jim had thought universal to Vulcans suddenly went away. Spock looked abashed and the tips of his ears turned green.

"I had my reasons," he said.

"Don't go drinking stupid shit because I'm not taking you to Bones again the next time you pass out," Jim muttered. "You're a fucking Vulcan and you can't even take care of yourself."

"I assure you that I am more than capable of taking care of myself, Mr Kirk," Spock replied coolly.

"Didn't seem that way."

"I suppose you would know a lot about independence, Mr Kirk," Spock said still in that cold monotonous voice of his. Jim felt a chill run down his spine. He rounded on Spock.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Spock cocked his head to the side again. "I was referring to your lifestyle after the conclusion of the Denevan court case, of course."

Jim snapped.

"You stay away from my fucking files, you little shit!" he yelled, grabbing Spock by the wrist.

_ Crack! _

Jim's eyes widened. The pawn Spock was holding was now reduced to dust. A drop of green blood welled from Spock's thumb where the wood had cut him. Jim released him. Hiastre was already heading towards them. "What happened?" she asked, looking from Jim to Spock. "Jim?"

"Nothing," Jim muttered, refusing to look at either of them. He grabbed his jacket from the back of his seat. "I've had a long day, Hiastre, sorry, but I gotta sleep."

She bit her lip. "Are you sure? Will you come back next week?"

He looked to Spock who was staring at him, stunned. Stunned? Jim thought angrily. He was the wronged party here.

"If he's here next week, then no."

* * *

Spock did not mean to. Later when he was home he would berate himself for freezing. There were no similarities between Kirk and the man who'd spat at his feet and wrongly called him a Romulan, but when Kirk had touched him, he'd been choked by his rage and Spock had frozen, startled by the potency of it.

He had not meant his words to be mocking. And the Denevan court case was public record. Spock had stumbled upon it when he was doing additional research in his Starfleet History class. He had come across George Kirk and his heroic sacrifice, and the article had mentioned that he was survived by his wife and his newborn child. He would not have looked into it more had he not seen the name and face of Alex Grayson on the list of survivors of the USS Kelvin, a man who looked startlingly like his mother.

Was he an uncle? Spock had thought. He could be mistaken but he was drawn to the picture, at the shape of the man's eyes, so similar to Amanda's, so similar to Spock's own eyes. It was not impossible. Amanda did not talk about her family. Perhaps, he did have an uncle who was a Starfleet officer.

Spock searched for more information on the man but could find none in the archives. Instead he stumbled upon the story of George's broken family. Winona, declared mentally unstable by the Denevan government, had lost custody of the young Kirk who then spent the rest of his childhood passed from foster family to foster family until he ran away at fifteen. Only to pop up again on Earth four years later in Spock's chess club meeting, looking exactly like that smiling image of George Kirk that hung on Starfleet's memorial hall.

Hiastre put a hand on his shoulder. Spock shrugged it off; he did not understand other species' constant need to be in physical contact. "Jim just needs to cool off but he'll come back," she said though she sounded unsure. "The meeting's almost over anyway. You should get your thumb healed."

Spock nodded. Outside, students were still milling about, going back and forth the different clubs they joined. It was only six. He considered going to the library to find out more about Alex Grayson. It was research he would have to do on his own as even Sarek refused to talk about the Human side of his family out of respect for his wife. He started to walk to the nearest turbo lift.

"Baby! Baby Vulcan!" someone yelled.

Spock turned around him. Gaila was running towards him, startlingly fast in her heels. "Gaila," he greeted cordially. He winced when she shrieked in happiness then tensed when she suddenly threw her arms around him, squeezing him with surprising strength.

"You're okay! You're okay!" She kissed both of his cheeks. Spock balked at the treatment, his face burning. Even his own mother had never been this aggressively affectionate. "I was so worried about you."

Spock reached up to rub his face. It was sticky and when he looked at his fingers he found that they were stained with the purple lipstick she'd put on. "I am in good health," he replied as he continued to rub it off. He thought of Jim's words again, of how he'd been too stupid to drink something he was not supposed to. "I assure you it was my fault. I did not know I was allergic to Ligonian wine."

"But you're just a baby," she sighed.

"I am _nineteen_."

"Still a baby compared to the rest of us. I shouldn't have offered that to you." She shook her head, her red curls bouncing. "Where are you going, by the way? You should come with me! I'm in the drama club, you know, and we're doing Hamlet but with an Orion twist."

Spock did not know what she meant by that but he had seen the holos on Orion media in his Politics and Society class. They were very much not to his taste.

"I am doing additional research on the USS Kelvin," he said and Gaila's smile faded.

"Oh," she said. "Well don't go talking to Jim about it. But you can always talk to Pike."

Spock's brow furrowed. "Pike?"

"You haven't had the chance to meet him of course. He's an instructor for the fourth years and he's usually out in space assisting in the space walks and simulations but he's here this week," she said. "He was George Kirk's friend. I bet he can tell you a lot about it."

* * *

Chris was grading papers when Spock pressed the buzzer on his office. He glanced up, eyes bleary from checking badly written essays. These students had all taken Creative Writing in their first year for goddsake, he thought angrily, at the very least they should be able to write something that didn't read like a five-year-old had written it. Mitchell's stood out as always, but as always Chris hesitated before he marked it with an A. He did not quite know yet if he should raise concern on Gary's essays which, though brilliant, were rather cold. Chris was unsure how Gary was even passing his Ethics classes.

"Sir?" Dark eyes peered at him.

Chris frowned as he set the still open PADD on his desk. What was a first year doing in this wing? Then his brain caught up with the rest of what he was seeing. It was the Vulcan his colleagues in the freshman department had been talking about. Chris remembered that the board had grumbled about the very late transfer, but they'd given in because of Vulcan's current state of emergency and because the boy was Ambassador Sarek's child.

"It's a bit unfair to pit a Vulcan against the rest of students don't you think?" Brett Anderson had said. "He's going to whizz past all of them in the sciences."

"I'm not sure about that," Chris had replied. "Starfleet isn't all about the hard sciences. There's ethics and philosophies for one. Not all officers have those skills."

There's lack of skill in creative writing as well, he thought with another angry glance at his students' works. "Yes?" he said, turning back to the Vulcan.

"Captain Pike," he greeted, raising his hand in the ta'al. "I am Spock, a first year student in the science track. I was wondering if you could perhaps tell me more about the USS Kelvin."

Chris eyed him warily. The only people who approached him about the Kelvin were people who wanted to talk about George. "The Kelvin? There's not much I know that isn't already in history books."

Spock looked disappointed. Chris blinked. The sad expression had gone. Perhaps it had been a trick of the light? "I was not referring to the events that transpired. I wish to know about the crew that survived…of one person in particular."

He held a clipping in his hand which he now placed on Chris's desk. It was a picture of a young man, close enough to the boy's age that when Chris looked up, he instantly made the connection. The boy had the same eyes, the same facial structure as the man in the picture.

"You're half?" he said, bewildered. It was the wrong thing to say. The boy's shoulders rose a fraction and his lips thinned.

"I'm sorry—it's just I've never met a half-Vulcan, half-Human before," Chris added quickly. He did not even know that was possible or that Sarek had married a Human. Interspecies marriages happened but children from those marriages were rare and usually only happened when the two beings were similar in physiology. Vulcans and Humans were so different.

"I am the first," Spock said, still sounding stung.

"Congratulations," he said but that only made the boy more defensive. Chris flushed. Years of captaining his own vessel and meeting alien civilizations and he had still offended someone. He looked back at the picture.

"I'm afraid I don't recall who he is," Chris said gently. "But he looked like he was an ensign and he obviously studied here. If you ask nicely, you can ask the registrars for past school records. They're available to the public anyway so they won't reject you if you ask"

"Thank you," Spock said. He glanced at the PADD that lay open on Chris's desk. "Your student used the wrong theory and timeline."

Chris checked the essay when Spock left the office. It was for his Advanced Warp Theory class, that no first year, other than Jim, should have been able to understand. But he found that Spock was right.

"Huh," he said as he marked the essay with a failing grade. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Kirk was true to his word. He did not return to the chess club, much to Spock's disappointment. He had gotten the hang of chess and found that with Kirk gone, the only worthy opponent was the computer, and Spock was growing tired of its predictable playing style. 

He attempted to apologize. But Kirk did not take the same classes as him and he was always surrounded by the elite students. On the one chance that he managed to find Kirk on his own, the other man had shrugged him off. "Fuck off, man," he hissed. "I don't want to play games with you." 

He only wanted to play a good game of chess again.

Spock abandoned his attempts to apologize after that. He had other things to occupy his mind and Kirk's broodiness was taxing. Following Pike's suggestions he went to the registrar with the picture of Alex Grayson in his hand. The registrar was an aged Andorian who had been in the Academy since before Spock had even been a thought in either of his parents’ minds. She peered at the picture contemplatively then back to Spock. "Yes," she said, "I remember him. Always came down here to flirt with the interns. Brought that twin of his."

"Twin?"

"A sister." The Andorian shrugged. "Not a student though but she was always here. Andy or Amy or Allie something —"

"Amanda," Spock interrupted, his excitement slipping into his voice. The Andorian peered at him suspiciously. 

"Yeah. Maybe."

"Are there any records of him?"

"Of course there are," she scoffed. "We never lose records."

He only had to type the name in the computer, and Alex's file showed up. Up close with his picture enlarged, he looked startlingly like Amanda. Spock knew there was no mistaking it. They even shared the same way of smiling. But why had his mother never talked about him?

Spock scrolled down, searching for a clue on why Amanda no longer acknowledged her brother's existence—average grades, a member of the school's track and field team, a typical student of the Academy. Was he on Earth? Spock imagined finding him, imagined the surprise on his face when he saw Spock. 

Would he be nice? Disgusted? Sarek's relatives were not mean or dismissive to him as his schoolmates were. They were even amiable at times, especially the cousins closest to his age, but they were often puzzled by Spock and his seeming inability to completely mask his emotions. "Perhaps you should seek kolinahr?" a distant cousin had suggested when Spock had accidentally smiled during their ka'athyra performance. "That is not the path for Spock," Sarek had interrupted but he'd asked Spock to meditate longer hours after that.

He scrolled down further. 

Current status: missing in action.

Spock couldn't help it; he was crushed. Did his mother not mention him because she was hurt by his disappearance? He wondered when it had happened. Surely he hadn't gone missing when the USS Kelvin went down. Only George Kirk had died there, at least, according to Starfleet’s official reports. He scrolled back up. Some students kept unnecessary information blank on their public files and Alex made no mention of his parentage or of a sister in his file. But under place of origin he had entered ‘Iowa’.

"Where is Iowa?" Spock asked. He had not yet memorized the geography of Earth as it was surprisingly complex. There were differences in Vulcan cultures and there were still tribes that fully worshipped the pre-Surakian gods, but Humans looked and acted so differently from each other that in order to avoid confusion for non-Humans, there were only few cities with Starfleet outposts.

"I've stayed here for nearly seventy years," she said with a shrug. "Never been outside San Francisco. Not much to see out there for non-Humans."

In his Earth History class, Spock pulled up a map and studied it. Iowa was large. But he could narrow things down even more. He had never been to the Vulcan-Earth embassy in San Francisco but Sarek might have some information in his office. He would have to be sneaky about it however. There was no doubt in his mind that if T'Keena were to find out he was snooping around in search of information about the maternal side of his family, she would contact Sarek and he would call and lecture Spock. Perhaps he would even take him away and move him to a farther planet. 

"Mr Spock!"

Wendell, his Federation Law instructor, was glaring at him imperiously from the front of the room. All heads turned to him. "Mr Spock, I asked you a question. Were you not listening?"

"I was," he said, then quickly gave the correct answer. Wendell looked annoyed that he'd gotten it right and from behind him heard a cadet grumble about how it was unfair to have a Vulcan in Starfleet. He ignored it and pulled up the map again, letting Wendell's monotonous voice flow over him. 

Iowa, he read, could be reached by riding the sky train. He blinked. He had never ridden the sky train before. He'd only traveled by hover cab so far, going back-and-forth the Academy and his own apartment. 

He was so preoccupied that he did not even notice that the bell had rung and students were filing out of the classroom. He scrolled down his PADD, searching for answers but there were no instructions anywhere on how to ride the sky train.

"You need an octopus card for that," a voice over his shoulder chimed in.

He looked up. A girl with bright red hoop earrings was looking at his PADD. 

She had introduced herself as Nyota Uhura on Spock's first day, speaking impressively in Vulcan which had surprised Spock. She had attempted to befriend him, but Spock had turned down all her offers, uncertain as to what the girl wanted from him. He assumed she wanted to practice her Vulcan, but there was an optional Classical Vulcan class that you could take in your third year and Spock didn't want to be anyone's tutor.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly when he just continued to stare at her. "It's just you've been looking at that page for a long time and the internet isn't very helpful for those things people think are just common sense—since Humans never consider the needs of non-Human immigrants but then we do have a history of that and—" She stopped, her cheeks darkening a bit. "Rambling again sorry, anyway, you need an octopus for the sky train. That's how the cadets get around here since hover cabs aren't always willing to travel far."

"An octopus?" Spock asked warily. His brain focused on the word 'octopus'. When he'd first started learning Standard, his mother had given him a picture book with animal names translated in both Standard and Vulcan. An octopus was an eight-legged sea creature endemic to Earth's oceans. Was he supposed to  _ fish _ for one just to go to Iowa? 

"You just get it from the vending machine in the main hall," she said. "It's a little card like this." She grabbed a card from her wallet and showed it to him. It was a white rectangle with a smiling cartoon octopus printed on the surface. "The designs that pop out are different but they all have the same purpose."

"Thank you."

"Hey," she called when he was about to leave. "Do you want to go with us to watch a movie?"

Spock did not like where this was going. He had studied Human courtship customs in one of his cultural classes. Movie dates were a part of those customs. "Miss Uhura," he said, "I am afraid I must decline as I have no interest in forming a romantic relationship with you and—"

"Excuse me?" she blurted out, her eyes narrowing. "I'm not asking you out. I'm just trying to be your friend."

"Ah…Vulcans do not have friends." She was not the first person in Starfleet he had said that to, and Spock braced himself for an insult about his Vulcan heritage, but Nyota only looked hurt. "Okay, I'll leave you alone for now," she said. "But the offer still stands if you change your mind."

Perhaps he should have accepted her offer, he thought as he made his way to the main hall. But no, he told himself. His goal while he was on Earth was to find out about his Human family, not form friendships with his classmates. They would not last after all. Humans were unlike Vulcans whose relationships did not fade away after years of not seeing each other. If he befriended someone and returned to Vulcan, they would either forget about him or pester him to come visit, both of which were things he did not wish to deal with.

Still, he made a mental note to send a thank you email later. The machine popped out a card with a bright yellow octopus stamped on it, then a small pamphlet with a map of the railways. Spock scanned it quickly then stuffed it in his sling bag. 

"Going somewhere interesting, Pointy?"

Gary Mitchell was grinning down at him. Spock checked but Kirk was nowhere to be found. Mitchell was all alone for the first time since Spock had seen him. 

Somehow this did not comfort him.

"My name is Spock," he corrected.

"Sure thing, Pointy, sure thing," he said with a wave of his hand. "But I didn't come here to discuss your name. Heard you've been making a ruckus in your Computer Programming class."

"It was not a 'ruckus' in my interpretation," Spock replied. He had merely asked why Starfleet did not have a simulation program where death was inevitable. His instructor, an imposing Algolian, had boasted about how there was no need as Starfleet officers always found a way.

"You cannot presume that there will never be a scenario where no one survives. It is illogical and arrogant to avoid death and cadets must be taught that," he'd said. "Why in the USS Kelvin —"

"Let's not talk about the USS Kelvin," Sulu, one of the people he'd seen hanging around Kirk, had interrupted coolly and Spock sat back down in his seat and pretended to be chastised.

Perhaps, Sulu had reported to Mitchell on what had occured, though to Spock's knowledge he was not officially part of Mitchell's gang. It was Kirk who was Mitchell's favorite. Seniors and freshmen did like to form pseudo-sibling relationships to make ship assignments upon graduation easier for everyone. The USS Kelvin was no doubt a sensitive topic to Kirk, just like the Denevan court case. Mitchell’s stance was non-threatening but Spock could not find any other reason as to why Mitchell was talking to him.

"Mr Mitchell, if you are here to threaten me, it will not work."

Mitchell laughed loudly. " _ Threaten _ you? You're just a squirt, why would I threaten you? No." He laid his hand on Spock's shoulder, squeezing slightly. Spock fought the impulse to shrug it off. "No, squirt, I'm actually here to ask you to hang out with us."

"Hang out?"

"You know," Mitchell said with a hint of irritation in his voice. "Spend some time with us older students. You've seen us. And hey if we like you enough, we can even let you in on our advanced classes."

The advanced unofficial classes were exclusive to members of Mitchell's gang. Spock did not know what they were but he had heard a group of Mitchell's friends discussing it in the school's mess hall. Spock had to admit to himself that their discussion had been interesting. But he had also seen Mitchell and his gang display enough elitism that even his own family, the most influential on Vulcan, would frown upon.

"I must decline," Spock said. 

Mitchell's jovial smile disappeared. "You can't decline. Think of what I'm offering you. Do you have any idea how fast I can advance your career in Starfleet?"

"Mr Mitchell, you are under the apprehension that I care about having a career in Starfleet. You see, I only wish to go home."

* * *

"I don't know, mom."

"It's a long weekend, Jim, and I haven't seen you in ages." He could hear her tapping her nails on the table, which signalled that she was growing impatient. Jim imagined she was sitting at the kitchen table, sucking on a cigarette while the TV in the next room blared with cartoons. It was how she always looked whenever Jim dropped by, as if the sight of him was too stressful for her. And yet she always wanted him to visit.

"You can even bring a friend with you," she suggested.

"Who?" Jim snorted. He put his phone over his comm then to Bones he asked, "You want to go to Iowa with me?"

Bones rolled his eyes. "Hell no. I'm not going back to that dumpsite. And I'm visiting my kid this weekend."

"You suck," Jim mouthed, grinning when Bones lazily raised a middle finger at him. "I guess I can drop by," he said to Winona, who breathed out deeply.

"Okay!" she said happily. "Okay, baby, I'll make you your favorite."

"Okay, mom...see you."

Bones was already watching him when Jim hung up. "The last time you were there, you got drunk and passed out on our couch," Bones reminded him. Jim flushed.

"It will be different this time," he insisted, but he was uncertain of how he would behave.

The problem was that, due to the years of having been apart, Winona and Jim did not know how to act around each other. Winona stopped being his legal guardian when he was only seven, and Jim did not see her in person until he went to Earth for the first time, long after Denevan law declared he was no longer a minor and he could do whatever he wished. She treated him like he was still a child, as if she were silently making up for all the years they had spent apart. It led to arguments, Jim bristling at the affection he interpreted as performative. He felt smothered every time he dropped by his mother's house, and though he would never say it out loud, he believed he no longer needed her. There was still an unfair part of him that blamed her for letting him go.

Logically, he knew it was not her fault. Winona was correct--the Federation was partly to blame for what had happened. Winona, suffering from postpartum depression, had been hounded by the media and by Starfleet officers. Her face, in grief, was beautiful and the media had lapped it up and every article about George's death, every flash of the camera and every paparazzi following her to catch a glimpse of Jim, had driven her mad. Starfleet did nothing to protect her, despite all the promises that they also cared for the families of lost members.

Winona went AWOL from Starfleet. She had taken Jim away from Earth, traveling from planet to planet outside the Federation zone and living on whatever they could find. Jim remembered those years well. They were the only happy part of his childhood, even though in his memories, Winona always looked lost and frightened, clutching Jim too tightly as if she were afraid he'd be taken away. They had always been running, travelling lightly to make leaving easier. 

This would have been his entire childhood if he hadn't gotten severely ill on a freighter to Iris III. The closest space station where he could be treated was a Denevan owned one, and they had taken one look at Jim, saw that he was malnourished and lacked the proper vaccines for space travel, and declared Winona to be an unfit guardian.

Denevan law worked against them. Any minor that entered their territory would automatically be under their protection and subject to their law. The court case that followed was a short one, and Winona, screaming for her son, was sent away while Jim was taken to the Denevan orphanage. He would spend the next years being taken from one foster home to the other, moving around Earth's colonies, until Tarsus, when Jim decided to run away for good. 

In those years, he could not help but blame Winona for not being strong enough, for not being well enough to protect him. When he got older, most of that resentment faded but it was still there and it did not help that every interaction Winona had with him was tinged with guilt and desperation, as if every time Jim left to go back to the Academy, it would be the last time she'd ever see him. 

"Look, I'd love to go with you," Bones said sincerely. "But Jojo's begging me to go home."

Jim sighed. "I guess long weekends  _ are  _ for families. Even Sulu's flying to Japan to visit his grandparents. He asked Cupcake to water his plants for him."

"Does he want Cupcake to die? I've seen Sulu's room, ain't nothing there that looks like it should be kept indoors."

"I'm pretty sure one of those plants is a sucker vine," Jim said with a shudder. "I went there to borrow a shirt while he was out and something tried to grab me under his bed. No wonder his roommate is also his boyfriend—there's no way anyone else would put up with that."

Suddenly, Bones sat up. "Speaking of Vulcan natives, I see our favorite Vulcan might be spending time with his family too."

Jim looked out the window. His dorm faced the barely-used west parking lot. Spock was chatting to a male Vulcan who was standing by a sleek black hover car. 

"I'm pretty sure that's not his dad," Jim said. The Vulcan looked nothing like Spock. And he had heard, from eavesdropping on Una and Pike's comms, that Spock was the son of an ambassador and was from an important family on Vulcan. The knowledge that Spock was a rich spoiled brat on Vulcan had only infuriated Jim even more, and although it was cruel, Jim avoided him like the plague, refusing to hear his awkward apologies. 

He would not admit to himself that he was also  _ jealous _ of Spock. Spock, it seemed, had everything. Definitely a good, well-provided childhood if Pike had been telling the truth that Spock was descended from Solkar himself. They did not share classes yet but no doubt in the next semester he would have a few classes with Spock and Jim would have to compete with him. The first year instructors were already singing praises, when before it had only been Jim they were talking about. Even Mitchell, to Jim's irritation, had taken a liking to Spock and it was only thanks to Spock's determination to live like a hermit that Jim did not have to share the spotlight as the Red Squad's new member.

Spock, perfect Spock, seemed like he didn’t have any problems, and as stupid and illogical as it was, Jim hated him for it.

  
  


Unbeknownst to Jim, Spock was currently experiencing a problem. The problem lay with T'Keena who was now watching him suspiciously. Spock set his bag down and took the seat in front of her desk. It was really his father's desk but T'Keena was taking over his duties while Sarek handled the crisis on Vulcan. Spock found himself staring at a picture of his mother, holding a bundle in her arms which Spock suspected was him as an infant. 

He suspected he would find something in Sarek's desk. His father kept office in their house when he was on Vulcan, and as a very young child Spock had regularly raided his desk for treats of I'chaya or for new things to study. There was nothing there that could lead him to his human family but here, on Earth away from Spock's prying, there was a possibility Sarek had left a clue.

But first he would have to get T'Keena out long enough for him to search. It would not be an easy task and with a sinking feeling in his gut, he guessed that it might even be impossible. T’Keen had been Sarek’s assistant since Spock was an infant in his mother’s arms. She knew him quite well, and even now as he sat in front of her and snacked on the saffir she’d placed before him, she was staring at him intently.

"You have never wanted to visit your samekh's workplace before," she said. 

"I longed for the company of other Vulcans," Spock replied. It was not a lie. There were only a few Vulcans in the embassy and Vulcans worked quietly, but the hushed sounds of his native language and the spicy scent of Vulcan candles burning on the altar in the middle of the room comforted him. A distant cousin had even approached him and greeted him by lightly touching one of his meld points in the familial gesture.

"Acceptable," T'Keena said. 

"Is there news of my mother? Sarek has not spoken to me in three weeks."

"The Lady Amanda is stable. Your father will speak to you when he is available," she said quickly. Spock quelled the flash of irritation that arose in him. 

"There is no logic in keeping me uninformed of Vulcan's condition," he said, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice. T'Keena heard it at once. She straightened in her seat.

"You are displaying too much emotion," she lectured. "You have not meditated properly."

"I have told samekh that it is difficult to meditate in my apartment."

"There is a mediation room in this building. Perhaps you should attempt meditation there."

It was not a suggestion. Spock rose and left, feeling more and more frustrated. It would not do good to lose control here, he reminded himself, not when he was surrounded by his father’s colleagues. He entered the lift and a mechanical voice greeted him in both Standard and Vulcan. One wall in the lift displayed a map of the building.

Spock checked. The meditation room was on the third level. He was about to press the button when he caught sight of a larger room just to the left of it.

Control Room, it read.

An idea popped in his head. 

It would not be easy to hack, Spock thought, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Spock quickly pressed the button before he could change his mind.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, every alarm in the building was on and ordering employees to evacuate. Spock checked the cameras in the Control Room—everyone was quickly walking out of the building. Spock spotted T’Keena walking next to two Elders as they moved out. 

He would have to be quick. It had not been easy but as Spock had guessed, Sarek had also had a hand in programming the security measures of the embassy--and Sarek had taught Spock everything there was to know about computers. The alarms would last for fifteen minutes and as the Vulcans would not enter the building until it was over, T’Keena would not think to go looking for him inside.

He made his way to his father’s office. Sarek’s desk contained numerous paper files—a primitive but effective measure to keep secrets from being hacked. Spock sorted through the folders, his guilt rising as he spotted certain sensitive information. He quickly ignored those and opened more drawers. 

He finally found what he was looking for in the last drawer. There were numerous envelopes inside. They contained letters and when Spock pulled one out, he recognized his mother’s neat looping script in Standard and some awkward attempts at Vulcan. They were dated from before Spock was born. Letters in their courtship years? he thought, feeling himself flush. He put those down then picked up one envelope—the only one that remained unopened.

It was heavier and the envelope was made of a sturdier and more expensive material. Spock turned it over in his hands.

His breath caught in his throat. 

The envelope was addressed to be sent to Iowa, to a Mr Clark Grayson.

All of a sudden the alarm switched off. Spock startled then quickly shoved the letter in his bag. Heart-pounding, he snuck out one of the emergency exits then joined the Vulcans out in the street who were murmuring their confusion to each other. T’Keena spotted him and she quickly made her way over to Spock.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Unknown as of now.” She narrowed her eyes. “You are unharmed?”

“I evacuated as soon as the alarm set off,” he lied.

He was not certain if she believed him. But it did not matter. Tomorrow was the weekend and if she were to report to Sarek about his strange behavior, Spock would already be on his way to Iowa, his mother’s letter tucked safely inside his pocket.


End file.
